My Last Breath
by Holz090
Summary: "She didn't even know what had happened until she realized she couldn't breathe" AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**This was an idea that for reasons known only to my subconscious popped into my head on the way back from the station tonight and refused to budge until I wrote it down. By no means my best work, I just felt I need to get this down. **_

_**I'm considering the possibility of continuing with this in some way, but I don't know. Any feedback is welcomed as per! **_

She didn't even know what had happened until she realized she couldn't breathe; even then it was impossible to believe. Perhaps it's true what they say – pain is only in the mind. Like when you cut yourself and see the blood before you feel the pain.

But there was still no pains as she reached down to find her clothes soaked in blood. No pain as the street around her started to blur, her hand now already covered in her own blood.

_This is bad. _

Looking round frantically at the empty street she saw no one. The man in the black coat who had grabbed her as she locked the doors to the factory was gone as quickly as he'd appeared. It had all happened so fast- one second she heard footsteps approaching her, the next she was staggering down the steps. None of this was real, it couldn't be. Everything seemed to be happening to somebody else, as though she was detached from her own body.

She whimpered slightly as she clung hopelessly to her abdomen, trying to stem the blood flow but knowing all the while it was pointless. The cold air cut through her and her whole body tensed as it slowly dawned on her what was happening. The world tilted and blurred and suddenly she couldn't hold her own weight anymore, stumbling pathetically to the ground.

It was only then that it hit her – she'd left her phone on her desk. So keen to hide her secret texts to Peter earlier, she's quickly shoved it under some left over fabric as Michelle had walked into the office mid-way through a particularly teasing text. The text had never got sent, and in her haste to get home and see him, the phone had completely slipped her mind.

_And now I'll never get home. _

Seemingly miles away, Carla saw the lights of Dev's shop going out, one by one in quick concession. As she struggled for breath, she contemplated crawling towards it, banging on the doors and praying someone heard her, but she knew she'd never make it now. Groaning as the pain finally started to set in, Carla pulled herself backwards slightly, so her lower back rested against the first step up to the factory. She was leaving a trail of blood.

She couldn't help but think it unfair, unjust. She'd cheated death so many times, but now her luck had run out. This was how it ended – a pathetic way to go compared to the other far more dramatic ways she'd turned down. Stabbed on the steps of her factory by a stranger – she never even got the chance to see his face, this mysterious figure who'd succeeded where so many had failed.

Carla had no idea how long she lay there, alone and bleeding. Five seconds could just have easily been five hours. All she knew was that she losing blood fast, and that she was cold; so, so cold.

A sudden burst of light exploded onto the street in front of her, the echoing sound of someone whistling as the shutters were pulled down in front of the garage.

_Thank God, oh, thank God!_

Tyrone, seemingly oblivious to the world around him, turned the key in the bolt of the shutter and, after checking it was definitely locked, turned to walk away. He hadn't seen her. Carla tried to call out but found her throat was hoarse. She was choking for breath now, but this was her last chance.

"Ty… Ty!" Her shouts were barely more than a whisper; he'd never hear her. In a desperate panic, Carla reached for her bag, which has been thrown just within reach from where she'd dragged herself to. Using what felt like the final piece of strength she had left, she threw it in front of her in a bid to make some sort of noise loud enough to get his attention. It barely made a sound, but thankfully Tyrone heard it and spun round.

"Carla… Oh my God!" Sheer panic flooded his face as he hobbled from one foot to another, unsure of whether to go over to her or not.

"Please… help me…" She croaked her eyes heavy now with exhaustion.

Tyrone immediately grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed for an ambulance. "Wait there, I'll get help!" Without another word he turned and headed straight for the pub, shouting down the phone as he ran. Throwing the doors open, he yelled to anyone and no one. "Somebody come quickly, it's Carla!"

Lying alone on the steps to her factory, Carla was reminded of a story she'd been told, about how the great Mike Baldwin, her husband's predecessor or sorts, had died of pneumonia on these very steps several years previously. A slight smile crept across her face as she wondered whether this was fate. The stairs of doom; the pre-determined resting place of all who enter.

_He who lives by Underworld will surely die by Underworld. _

Approaching footsteps brought her back to reality as Tyrone and Maria raced back over to her, followed by Sean and some other faces she could no longer make out as everything around her started to blur into one.

"Oh my God Carla what happened?" Maria dived straight towards her, crouching behind her and supporting her shoulders. Seeing the blood soaked clothes and filthy wound, she looked around frantically for some kind of tourniquet. "She's been stabbed!" Maria stated the obvious as tears started to overcome her.

"Carla, it's ok, you're gonna be fine, I promise you…" Maria cradled her former nemesis close to her, knowing full well she was almost certainly lying. Straining desperately for breath, Carla tried to say something, but failed to produce any other sound than frantic panting and weak sobs.

Around them a crowd had gathered now, muffled cries of shock and confusion echoed everywhere.

The blinding light of a car's headlights swung into view as a car pulled onto the street, sharply followed by the sudden squeal of brakes and the slamming of the doors.

"Oh God please no… Oh…" Peter stood motionless for a moment, unable to take in the scene unfolding in front of him. He'd got bored waiting at her flat and, after she'd failed to answer his calls, he'd assumed she's got held up and left. The guilt flooded him now; he'd been annoyed at her for standing him up, when all this time she'd been laying dying.

After a few seconds, he swung into action and crouched next to Maria, nudging her slightly to indicate he'd take hold of his secret love. Maria took the hint and stood back, falling softly into the comforting arms of Sean as they stood, helplessly.

"You…" Carla was panting hard now, the pain growing with every breath. "You took your time!" She forced the words out, somehow managing a smile.

"I'm so sorry, love…" He clung to her, pulling her slightly up the step so that he was cradling her against him, her head rested on his thighs, running his fingers through her hair like he'd done so many times before. The rags from the garage that Tyrone had grabbed as a makeshift tourniquet were soaked through with blood, but Peter pressed them against her all the same. "Please don't leave me…." He pleaded with her through thick sobs. This was by no means how he'd wanted their relationship to come out, but right now he couldn't care less about anything or anyone other than the woman he held in his arms.

"Did anyone see anything?" Sean scanned the crowd.

"No… there was no one here when I found her" Tyrone answered, tears of regret filling his eyes and he realized that five minutes less of tinkering around in the office could have saved her life.

Carla's breathing was getting shallower and her pupils dilating. She was frozen and white as a sheet.

"Where is that ambulance?" Maria cried, scanning the street in frustration and desperation.

"I'm sorry…" Carla whispered, her eyes closing.

"No… no don't you dare be sorry! We're gonna get you to hospital and you're gonna be fine. You've just gotta stay with me, do you understand? Don't you dare go to sleep! I'm not losing you now…"

Pulling her limp body closer still towards him, Peter sat on the wet ground, his legs now underneath her shoulders.

"I love you, Carla Connor. You hear me? I love you. And we're gonna be together, I promise. I'm never letting you go…"

The crowd that had formed stood in a stunned silence now as the ambulance sirens approached.

"Hey… the ambulance is here now, sweetheart. It's gonna be ok, it's… Carla? Carla no please, wake up darling!"

Her motionless body lay limp on the wet ground, her eyes closed she looked so strangely peaceful. As the paramedics approached slowly, knowing they were too late, Peter clung to his lover's body, kissing her gently on her forehead through violent sobs.

The look on the paramedics' faces said it all. It was too late, she was gone.

"I love you so much, darling". He choked on his words, hugging her tightly now, sobbing against her ice cold skin. "I always will…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Still not entirely sure whether to make this a longer thing, but we'll see how it goes. Thanks for all the reviews so far - any feedback is always appreciated!**

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><p>This was both the best and the worst place for him to be, but at the core he knew he couldn't bare to be anywhere else right now. At least here the coat she'd left behind in a hurry that morning, that neither he nor Michelle could bring themselves to move from the sofa it was sprawled over, still carried her scent. He grabbed it now, clutching it tightly as though if he wished hard enough she might return to him, and the tears returned.<p>

Almost on cue Michelle put down the mug of coffee she was bring over and hugged him tightly. For a moment neither spoke as they clung to each other like the soul survivors of a shipwreck, unable to comprehend the events of the night before.

He hadn't even bothered going home: he knew his lack of desire to face his wife's reaction would be matched in hers to have the inevitable argument, and what can you say anyway? With the exception of one knowing look as she'd stood in the doorway of the pub, watching as her husband was pulled, hysterical and broken, away from the woman he truly loved; there'd been no contact since the previous morning, back when the world made sense.

When Michelle had arrived at the hospital, sobbing hysterically and asking no one in particular why she had to lose everyone she ever loved, it had seemed natural and automatic for them to huddle together outside in the cold as Peter chain smoked and Michelle tried to resist the violent urge to throw up. She'd not even queried what had happened between them, or why he was there, but he guessed she had more important things on her mind.

He'd hesitated slightly when she'd insisted he stay at the flat with her, but he didn't feel he could leave her alone, and besides, he didn't know where else he would go. Going home was out of the question, staying with his Dad would involve far too many questions and judgements than he could handle, and somehow being there, as close as he knew he would ever again be to the woman he loved felt right somehow. There was a strange comfort in the morbidity, and so when he'd agreed he was almost glad when a slight smile of relief had flashed across her face.

Peter wiped a tear from his blood shot eyes as Michelle seemingly remembered herself and edged away, snapping back into her usual super-efficient mode, moving a coaster to sit underneath the now lukewarm mug.

_Since when did Carla ever use coasters?_

His use of the past tense suddenly startled him, as it dawned on him perhaps for the first time in any real sense that this was all she would ever be now.

_In her whole life, she never used coasters. She will never use a coaster again because she's dead. _

The simplicity ate at him, made him feel hollow and fragile, like he might just blow away if a wind blew in. For the first time he understood what they meant when they said you lose someone hundreds of times, for every realization, every anniversary that passes without them, every future plan you realize they won't see… every time you think about something as stupid as a fucking coaster.

"Should we erm.. I dunno, phone anyone?" Peter's voice croaked unexpectedly, and he realized how long it had been since he'd last uttered a word. "What about her Dad?"

Michelle didn't respond for several seconds, and he wondered whether she'd heard him. "They don't speak," she eventually replied, busying herself by pointlessly rearranging the kitchen surface. She sighed then, turning to face Peter and stammering slightly as she corrected herself. "I mean um, they didn't speak".

"Yeah, but still…"

Michelle walked back over to the sofa, reaching across to grab the mug she'd put there a matter of minutes ago. "You drinking this?"

Peter shook his head.

"To be honest, Peter, I don't know if she'd even have his number". He found her matter-of-fact tone cold, not that he knew how else you were supposed to respond. "She fell out big style with her family years ago, her Dad even before that. I don't think they'd spoken since Paul".

Like a stab in the chest, Peter suddenly felt a wave of guilt he could barely contain. All those times he'd moaned to her about his family, blamed his father for everything wrong in his life. She must've thought he was a selfish pig.

The door buzzer made them both jump, and Michelle almost dropped the mug as she poured its content down the sink. "Who's that now?"

The pair exchanged uncomfortable looks before Michelle slowly picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Her face changed as she listened to the voice on the other end, from sunken and tried to something he couldn't quite read.

"Come up…" She frowned as she placed the phone back on the wall and released the latch on the door. "It's Darren", she told him before he needed to ask.

"Darren?"

"Her brother…" Her tone was distant, her eyes fixed on the door as though she were expecting something terrible to blast through it at any moment.

The tall, skinny man who strolled with ease through it moments later temporarily took Peter by surprise. He had Carla's dark hair, and dark, lose fitting jeans and a slightly worn leather jacket. Peter wondered for a moment who it was he reminded him of before it occurred to him that it was himself.

"Alright, 'Chelle?" He grinned, throwing what looked like an overnight bag onto the floor and reaching out to hug her. Michelle accepted the greeting with some reluctance, her body still tense and unsure. "God am I glad to be off that bloody train! Bloody kids screaming non-stop the whole way there. She around?"

Michelle exchanged a glance with Peter before turning her attention back to Darren. "Who…?"

Darren grinned. "Who? Margaret Thatcher, who do you think? That pain in the arse sister of mine!"

"You mean you… you don't know…?"

He looked worried now, his posture suddenly slumping as he seemed to notice Peter for the first time. "Know what?"

"Darren what are you doing here?"

"I was kind of hoping she'd tell me that. Rang me up out the blue the other week, asked me to come up here. Said there was something she had to say or…" His voice trailed off as he saw the look on Michelle's face. "Why, what don't I know?"

"You'd better sit down". Peter motioned the chair opposite him as the pair exchanged worried looks.


	3. Chapter 3

**It's been far too long since I updated this, for a number of reasons. Primarily, certain storylines and characters being introduced that completely destroyed my initial plan for this, combined with good old fashioned writers' block. I've changed the direction of this in a few ways, but hopefully these won't notice from the first two chapters I've already uploaded. Re the Darren/Rob situation, I guess they're two separate characters, although in this AU world, Rob is Darren, or Rob doesn't exist, or however it's best to think about it. Blame the show writers, they're the ones who changed Darren's name!**

**I hope this still makes sense and there's still at some point interest after all this time. To anyone coming back to reading this, thank you! **

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><p>The tributes had already started to appear on the factory steps as Peter's car pulled up in front of it, a painful mirroring of the events of the night before. Only now, instead of his dying lover, dozens of cheap flowers lay dying there instead. As they stepped out of the car, two sets of footsteps cut through the silence of the street as though amplified.<p>

Neither of the two men knew exactly why they were there - why it had seemed to crucial to return to the scene of the crime, to the place she'd given so much to. It had just seemed the natural thing to do to get into the car and drive the short journey that Carla had taken almost every day for the past 5 years. The journey she would never take again.

The younger of the two paused momentarily, looking the building up and down. "So this is it, then". It was a statement, not a question.

"They're all hypocrites…" Peter was barely audible, his eyes fixed on the limp flowers that covered the first two steps to the factory. He bent and picked up a card at random; screwing his face up as he read it and throwing it back down in disgust.

"Least people are making the effort". Darren's subtle London twang appeared to betray his roots as he moved closer to Peter, who scoffed at his remark as he edged away again, afraid to get too close to this stranger. He may not know him well, but what little Carla had mentioned of her own family hadn't painted him in a good light, and he wasn't about to insult her memory by befriending this man just because he happened to be there at the time.

"Shame they didn't do her the same courtesy when she was alive" He eventually responded without even looking up. He picked up another bunch, tearing off the attached card forcefully, causing a petal to fall from one of the flowers. "With love, Eileen", he read aloud, before throwing this second bunch down too, stamping down hard on it for good measure. "Since when did _Eileen_ give a damn about her? All she ever did was slag her off, same as the rest of them. Where were they when she was raped? Where were they when she was stood in court having flashbacks and being made to look like a liar? In the pub, that's where. Calling her a liar." He was angry now, kicking at the remaining flowers with more force than was represented by the pathetic way in which they spread across the pavement.

Darren was momentarily unable to react, focused on what Peter had just said. Raped? It was only when Peter turned to face the street, shouting at the air, hurling abuse through choking sobs, that he snapped himself awake and grabbed him from behind to restrain him as onlookers began to stare in a mix of sympathy and morbid curiosity.

"She was worth hundreds of any one of you!" Peter spat, his face red. "Than all of you put together. You come here with your fucking £2.99 flowers from the corner shop, pretending like you cared. You make me sick, the lot of you!" All the pent up anger from the past 12 hours suddenly raced through him, pouring from him.

"Come on mate..." Darren tried to reason, guiding him slowly towards the car.

Peter pulled against his grip, struggling free. "Don't 'mate' me! You're just as bad,. Just because you're here with me doesn't mean I like you,. We're not suddenly friends because I was having an affair with your sister". He stopped abruptly. This was the first time he'd publically admitted to the affair, the first time he'd even said it out loud to anyone but Carla. Sure, people had got the idea from his reaction the night before, but now he'd actually confimed it...

"Alright, sorry" Darren replied, raising his hands in surrender as he took several steps back.

"I loved her..." he mumbled almost incoherently, falling slowly to the ground, running his hand along the pavement where the faint remanents of her blood still clung to it despite the residents' best efforts to clean it. "I loved her so much, I..." He was curled into a ball now, sobbing almost silently to himself. A face Darren didn't recognise started to walk towards Peter, but Darren raised his hand to stop him in his tracks. Slowly, Darren walked back over to him, placing a supportive hand on this relative stranger's shoulder. "I know" He told him, pointlessly.

Carefully, he pulled Peter to his feet, leading him tentatively back towards the car. This time, there was no resistance.

Darren switched an empty cigarette packet between each hand aimlessly as he watched Peter across the room, starring just as aimlessly into what must have been sixth cup of coffee that morning. Nothing felt real, nothing made sense. 24 hours ago he had texted his sister to say he was on the train, to which he'd received a blunt, one word "ok" in response. And now he was here, and everything was chaos and he couldn't make sense of anything any more. Why had she been so keen to see him now, after all these years? When he'd tried to say he had other arrangements, which he genuinely had done, she'd insisted with some force that he cancel whatever it was and ensure that he was there the following Tuesday - today. What was so special, so urgent about this day?

He'd scanned his mind for any significance to the date, run through their conversation countless times in his head and even re-read her simplistic texts for any hint of a clue, but had found nothing.

Michelle's arm touching his as she sat down next to him brought him back from his thoughts, startling him. "I don't know what to say to him..." she spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

"What can you say?" Darren replied, turning to face his former sister-in-law. There was a pause, before Darren spoke again. "'Chelle, she asked me to come here. She insisted in fact. Told me cancel my plans and just get here today. Any idea why?"

Michelle just shrugged, biting the nail on her middle finger. "She didn't mention anything to me".

Like a wind-up doll springing into action, Peter rose from his chair, slamming his mug down on the coffee table with a bang that echoed around the room. He was half way to the front door before he said a word. "I'm going to see Leanne" was all he said, grabbing his coat from the back of the sofa.

"Is that wise?" Michelle stood, concerned.

"I can't put it off any longer" he replied, without breaking his stride as stormed out of the flat.

"Do you want-" Michelle started before the door was shut in her face. "...me to come with you?" she finished her sentence to no one in particular.


End file.
